


I never see the forest for trees

by newtmasdoesthedo



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtmasdoesthedo/pseuds/newtmasdoesthedo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac hesitated for a couple of seconds, because yeah, they were friends, but Courfeyrac knew better than to try to get into Jehan’s relationships. He wasn’t one to judge and he knew it. “You sound like you’ve been crying. Do you need me to come get you?”</p><p>Jehan sniffled again, laughing softly under his breath and nodded, “Yes please. It’s called… I don’t remember. It’s something annoying and pretentious. It’s the new one across from Zen.” He muttered, happy that Courfeyrac was coming to get him. </p><p>“I’m gonna stay on the phone until I’m there. I’m close by, I’ll be there soon, okay Jehan? You’ll be fine.” Courfeyrac promised, and Jehan heard him excuse himself, telling that one of his friends was in an emergency.</p><p>“Courf, I don’t want to drag you from something important, I mean, if you’re on a date or something I don’t want to-“</p><p>“Jehan stop.” Courf ordered softly, and Jehan instantly silenced himself, listening closely. “Nothing is more important than my friends, okay? You’re more important.” Courfeyrac assured him, and Jehan could hear the smile in his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I never see the forest for trees

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is crap and I'm sorry lol.  
> 2\. It's been a rly long time since I wrote Courfehan, also I took so long finishing this and I'm sorry.

Jean Prouvaire was the only person in their group of friends who had never made out with Courfeyrac. He was proud of that fact. He was the one person who had withstood Courfeyrac’s advances because Jean Prouvaire had an extremely high sense of self-preservation and he wasn’t about to get his heart broken. He’d been there before. He’d dated Clasqueos though it had been short-lived (and very unpleasant when the man got drunk, which was why he’d decided to end it). He had dated Guelemer who had turned out to be insanely jealous (at Courfeyrac, at Combeferre – which was stupid since they just discussed philosophy – and at Enjolras, which was just downright ridiculous to a point where Jehan had started laughing when Guelemer had mentioned it because _anyone_ dating Enjolras was just a hilarious thought. A fact that brought much sorrow to Jehan’s favourite painter.). Babet and Brujon had started flirting with him at the same time, and that had definitely gotten his alarm-bells to ring. He had liked Babet and had conversations with him about art and how the night sky was always prettier outside town and Brujon had impressed him with some very poetic thoughts on a Monet-painting Jehan had stopped to admire at the art-department of the university when he was looking for Grantaire one day.  
  
Said painter-friend had pulled him aside and warned him against a bet. The same day Montparnasse had extended the same warning and Jehan had been silly enough to fall for it. The thing with Montparnasse was that he was hard to resist. He was charming in a way that seemed just dangerous enough for him to be a bit of a bad boy and even though Jehan didn’t necessarily like to admit it he had a thing for those guys. They were exciting and romantic and yes, sometimes he might’ve fantasized about changing Montparnasse, but after two months of dating it had become painfully clear that the brunette was only waiting for him to give it up. Maybe because he’d drunkenly made some very crude comments about Jehan maybe sticking Courfeyrac’s pretty cock up there since he wasn’t going to let his boyfriend.    
  
So here he was, devastated outside a random nightclub, and he hated it. He hated that he got this involved so quickly. He hated that he loved too much, but he also would never change it. Jehan was a lover, and he might be stubborn at times, he might seem tough, and none of his friends doubted that he was brave, but he also hurt inside whenever someone left him. Montparnasse had broken his trust, and he didn’t want to go back in the club, but he also didn’t want to go home and be alone either. So he did the only thing he could do. He called Courfeyrac, because Courfeyrac’s sunshine smile and funny remarks could make anyone feel better, and that was the only thing Jehan wanted right now. He just wanted to feel better.  
  
“Jehan? It’s late, are you okay?” Courfeyrac asked, and Jehan sniffled slightly. “Jehan? _Jehan?_ ”  
  
Panic entered Courfeyrac’s voice, and Jehan quickly pulled himself together, straightening his back and clearing his throat, because he didn’t want Courfeyrac to think that he was hurt when the only thing that was hurting was his heart. “I’m fine, Courf. I’m okay, I’m not hurt. I’m outside some stupid hipster night club Montparnasse took me to.”  
  
Courfeyrac hesitated for a couple of seconds, because yeah, they were friends, but Courfeyrac knew better than to try to get into Jehan’s relationships. He wasn’t one to judge and he knew it. “You sound like you’ve been crying. Do you need me to come get you?”  
  
Jehan sniffled again, laughing softly under his breath and nodded, “Yes please. It’s called… I don’t remember. It’s something annoying and pretentious. It’s the new one across from Zen.” He muttered, happy that Courfeyrac was coming to get him.   
  
“I’m gonna stay on the phone until I’m there. I’m close by, I’ll be there soon, okay Jehan? You’ll be fine.” Courfeyrac promised, and Jehan heard him excuse himself, telling that one of his friends was in an emergency.  
  
“Courf, I don’t want to drag you from something important, I mean, if you’re on a date or something I don’t want to-“  
  
“Jehan stop.” Courf ordered softly, and Jehan instantly silenced himself, listening closely. “Nothing is more important than my friends, okay? You’re more important.” Courfeyrac assured him, and Jehan could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
It made him feel good, and then bad for feeling good, that Courfeyrac would blow off his date to come and get him. It really did, and maybe that wasn’t entirely a good thing because Jehan was starting to realize in his drunken state that maybe he didn’t feel good about that because Courfeyrac was blowing off a date to come get his friend. Maybe he felt good because Courfeyrac was blowing off _a date_ to come get _him._  
  
This of course gave him quite some stuff to think about as he waited for Courf to get there, and though Jehan was a little tipsy, he wasn’t _drunk._ He didn’t like alcohol that much, he usually stayed away from it, not liking how it clouded his judgement, and that was a good call right now. He’d definitely made the better decision, because even if he were ever going to entertain the notion of being with Courfeyrac, he’d definitely reject it right away. Wanting to be with Courfeyrac was setting yourself up for heartbreak.  
  
So Jehan did what he always did when he felt stressed out. He found a pen (because what kind of poet would he be if he didn’t always have one with him) and started writing small scraps of poetry on his underarms, not noticing himself that they were all about love and dark curls and a bright smile on a face that looks like it was sculpted by angels. The poetry just flowed as he allowed himself to experience every emotion running through him. There was the annoyance, the one that always comes with Courfeyrac although Jehan would never react on it because he was never the type to lash out. Now he was starting to realize that it was there because he cared, and maybe because he was sort of annoyed that Courfeyrac had made out with basically everyone but him. Courfeyrac never really tried that much and maybe, just maybe, that was starting to bug Jehan as he let himself dwell on it. Because why? When Courfeyrac would kiss basically anyone else in the room, why not Jehan? Was he really that unattractive?  
  
And Jehan didn’t usually feel bad about himself. He wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. He liked being in contact with his emotions, but they usually weren’t about feeling bad about himself. It was more like letting himself feel the emotions that were occupying him at the time. He didn’t feel like he was worth less than anyone else, and though he didn’t fall in love easily, he still loved love. He loved the notion, he loved having crushes, he loved people, but he didn’t need another person in his life to feel loved.  
  
So why did it matter that Courfeyrac didn’t go for him like he went for anyone else? Because, Jehan realized, that he really wanted him to. He really, really wanted it him to, and he hated it, because as much as Jehan appreciated every single feeling in the human spectrum, he didn’t want to be hurting, not because of a friend, because he’d have to see Courfeyrac hit on practically every other person whose path he crossed. And he didn’t want that. He wanted his friend to keep being his friend, and being friends with someone you were in love with-  
  
Jehan’s train of thought abruptly came to a halt, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Now that he’d consciously thought it it was almost impossible to ignore.  
  
He was in love with Courfeyrac.  
  
Maybe he had been for a long time, and that was why he’d avoided him. And Courfeyrac probably knew. And that was why he didn’t hit on Jehan.   
He knew about the crush, Jehan was certain.  
  
He looked down on his shoes, noticing that he’d have to clean them when he came home because alcohol and the dirt under dancing people’s shoes having coloured them. Jehan always took good care of his stuff, meticulously making sure that nothing broke if it wasn’t used up. That included his heart – or at least it had. Now it seemed that he’d given it to the wrong person without even having told him. He just hoped that Courfeyrac would be kind enough to keep pretending he didn’t know about Jehan’s silly schoolboy crush.  
  
He sighed again, feeling like maybe he’d already blown it without it ever having been his intention. It was stupid, really, because Courfeyrac wouldn’t help feelings against him. The problem with Courfeyrac was that Jehan didn’t doubt that he loved every single person he came into contact with. Courfeyrac fell in love easily, but he also got over it easily, and that meant that if Jehan went for it, if he actually went for what he wanted, he’d probably end up falling _hard._ Even harder than he already had. Going for it and losing it was not on his wishlist, and Jehan was anything but a coward, but he couldn’t use his bravery on this.  
  
He’d come to this conclusion as Courfeyrac stepped out of a cap, and he stood up quickly, brushing off his clothes frantically, forcing himself not to fuss over his clothes and his hair, because Courfeyrac will see through it. Jehan has a hard time thinking that Courfeyrac doesn’t know how much he affects people, because just looking at Courfeyrac makes _him_ feel a little tingly. He’s gorgeous, and he knows it.  
  
It didn’t mean that he was vain, though, because Courfeyrac was… well, he was one of the nicest, warmest people Jehan knew, and as he pondered this, it dawned on him that maybe it wasn’t so weird being in love with Courfeyrac, because Courfeyrac was a lover. He was the type who would hold your hand, who would pick you up off the ground and spin you around, and yeah, he might be pretty flimsy and unstable about love because he was so easily distracted, so easily fascinated. But that was only because he saw the beauty in everyone. Jehan didn’t want to be in love with Courfeyrac, he didn’t want his heart to be broken, but he was honestly not that surprised that he was, because Courfeyrac was pretty loveable, and Jehan was a lover.  
  
So when Courfeyrac just took one look at Jehan and put his arms around the poet, Jehan let himself sink into it, and it was nothing. It wasn’t something that was going to turn into anything. They didn’t even kiss, but he was so grateful to have Courfeyrac in his life.  
  
Courfeyrac was warm, Courfeyrac was kind, and Courfeyrac was steady. He might be a flimsy love-interest, but he was the steadiest friend you could ever imagine, because Courfeyrac _cared,_ and maybe that was what Jehan loved about him the most, because how did you find one single person who managed to care so much about the entire world?  
  
Courfeyrac was idealistic on the verge of naïve; he was caring on the verge of caring too much. Courfeyrac was warmth, Courfeyrac was kindness, and Courfeyrac was love, and Jehan let all of that seep into him as he stood there, letting himself be held, and Courfeyrac was stroking his back, and maybe, just maybe, Jehan was actually grateful that Courfeyrac didn’t make this anything else than what it was.  
  
Courfeyrac was his friend, and suddenly, finally, Jehan realized that Courfeyrac wasn’t making moves because he cared. He cared about Jehan, he ared about their friendship, and he knew what kind of person Jehan was. He knew that if he did, he’d hurt Jehan, and of course Courfeyrac wouldn’t ever want that. _Because he cared._  
  
So the poet moved just a step back, and he smiled at Courfeyrac sadly, because he knew that his heart was lost. He’d go home, and he’d write a million poems about Courfeyrac, about those curls and those chocolate brown eyes, about the dimples and the way Courfeyrac’s whole face lit up when one of his friends moved into the room.  
He’d write about how Courfeyrac would spend every waking moment try to make everyone around him happy. He’d write about a person who loved the way that he laughed, suddenly and sweetly, and he’d love writing every sentence, because Courfeyrac deserved a million poems.  
  
“Jehan…? What happened?” Courfeyrac asked, and his voice was so soft it made Jehan want to cry. So he moved to stand in Courfeyrac’s arms again, and he swallowed a lump and blinked the tears away from his eyes.  
  
“He broke up with me because I wasn’t ready…” he whispered, and Courfeyrac tightened his grip on it, and Jehan didn’t have to look to know that Courfeyrac was angry on his behalf. “I tried to tell him that I just doesn’t feel like it already because I’ve known him for such a strong time, and he sort of implied that I was… making love with you.” He whispered, knowing that he was being stupid, but he needed to tell Courfeyrac this, he needed to make Courfeyrac understand somehow, anyhow, that this was because of him. He wasn’t trying to blame him, but he needed Courfeyrac to understand somehow, anyhow, that this was about Jehan and his feelings about Courfeyrac. The centre of their entire group of friends. The person who’d brought them together, and Jehan fisted his hands in Courfeyrac’s shirt and put his forehead against his shoulder, completely silent for a couple of seconds. Then he moved back and looked at Courfeyrac.  
  
“Can you just… come home and be there?” he asked, and Courfeyrac seemed to understand. The smile on his face was nothing but loving, and Jehan felt his eyes prickling. Because when Courfeyrac nodded and hugged him he knew that the brunette was going to respect his boundaries. He knew that Jehan was hurting, and Jehan wanted nothing more than to stay here forever, but he also knew that some day he’d have to admit his feelings to Courfeyrac.  
  
Not today, though. For now they were friends. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that, maybe in a month or in a year, but he’d tell Courfeyrac how he felt. He’d give his heart completely, because even if Courfeyrac wouldn’t want to keep it, it didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve it, and if anyone was worth loving, it was him.


End file.
